Back to Life...Back to Reality

II don't exactly feel like I've been on vacation but I've certainly not been at work. At least not my normal kind of work.

I'm not sure I'm ready to get back to real life. It's still May 2015, though, so we have a little bit more pomp and circumstance to get through.  Alison graduates from Christ the King School on Thursday, and that will be the end of this crazy, busy month.

If you are my FaceBook friend, you may have gone with me on the #CKS8thGradeTrip to Washington DC. Sadly, @POTUS stiffed us but we still had a great time. Logged 20+ miles hiking in and around the city, including a trip out to Gettysburgh where we learned we've been pronouncing it wrong all these years. I think I calculated that I got approximately 15 hours of sleep during the three-day-tour.

We made up for it a bit on Saturday but we made time for Amer's race party and spent a fabulous Sunday at the QueenLynn lakehouse.  

Today, we rested. Hope you had a great holiday, too. 

Highlights from the back seat on the way to/from the lake:

Alison, Bre and Alex were deep into "remember when..." stories.

Alison: "Remember when Alex puked and kept it in a jar?"

"That never happened," Alex said.

"You know, it was orange. In a jar."

"Nev. Er. Happened. Never happened." 

Later, on the road to Nineveh, the closest town to the lake, were were remembering Veggie Tales when Jeff took a hill fast and our stomachs jumped into our throats. "Oh, no. I have to pee."

So of course he took the next hill faster.

"I'm just gonna pee in a jar like Alex."

Oh no, I'm gonna pee on Bre."

"I had a pee story but I got distracted."

Photo Higlights:

Sent from my iPhone

It's May in Indy and you know what that means...

It means it's time to plant the Angie's List garden!  Oh, and if you're extremely lucky or you devote your life to Indy car racing, there're a few activities out at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway you can go to.

I'm extremely lucky. Not only am I a charter member of the Angie's List Garden Club, I work for Angie's List and got to go along on a quarterly reward trip to IMS.

The trip was for Fast Friday, and it was a super fun day. It was more fun for me because I was with some folks who were really fun to hang out with. One of them made the mistake of saying it might be fun to get a photo with a driver.

That driver happened to be Gabby Chaves, who Angie's List had sponsored in the Grand Prix. So iit was nothing to me to ask a staffer there to go ask him to come out. That's what staffers do. And of course he came out.

Never mind that it was also bike to work day and I looked just like I'd biked to work. 

Regardless of the fact that I was a sweaty mess, were were set us on a course of me asking for photos from celebrities who were strolling around the garages at the Speedway or doing their day jobs inside their garages. At one point, we had a group of Indianapolis Colts rookies going by. I got two to stop, not knowing who they were. Thankfully, I had Jared Hay around to both alert me to folks to bother and then tell me who they were.

Turns out one of the Colts players is our No. 1 draft pick. It was super fun and all of the celebrities were so nice.  

It was a fun day. It had started out great, too, with me picking up my friend Lori Kaplan who pointed out a rainbow on the way down. Friends from work stopped, too, and we almost made it to work before the rain started.

As I biked home, I took one more look at the Angie's List Garden, hoping some magic had happened and the weed fairies had been by. Turns out they'd spent the day at the track, too, and the beds were still full of weeds less than 24 hours before planting day. It looked almost tropical.

I hadn't planned well when I set an appointment for Ali and me to get our hair cut Saturday morning. Not keeping that appointment would mean keeping my gray. So I made the supreme sacrifice to get up early to weed before the appointment.

Let's just say I'm really sorry I haven't kept up with my upper body work-outs. About an hour after I'd been there working, Kelsey Taylor came by. She's not just our personal trainer and Fitness Director; she's the Chief Garden Gnome.  

She saw my pile of weeds, commented on my heroic efforts and said, "I'll bring you bags so we can bag those up."

I'm sure I was gracious when I declined to bag up the jungle I'd deforested. Hell. I may never pull another weed in my life. If I'd had matches I might have tried to burn them. My arms were barely able to move the steering wheel on my drive home. 

I'm glad I did it, though. I've never missed planting day since we planted that damn garden. So even though it was a stealth move and I starred in my own episode of The Lone Weeder, I'm glad I still got to contribute.

It's true that I grew up in the country and my grandparents, my dad and some of my sisters are/were huge gardeners, I didn't inherit their green thumb. My grandmother's garden was a thing of beauty stretching for what seemed like a mile perpendicular from the gravel road outside her house. She had flowers by the road, then strawberries, potatoes, melons, beans, corn, peppers, which we called mangoes for some reason. If it could grow in Indiana, it was out there. The garden ended behind the barn and chicken house and across from that was the orchard where my Grandpa had bees, apples, pears and peach trees. There was even a grape arbor.

My dad's gardens were across our road and between he barn and chicken house. They and my sisters need  tractors to till the soil, their gardens are so big.

I concentrate on ground cover and flowers to cover the patches of moss that came with my house. I usually will have some containers for basil and oregano. Maybe peppers and tomatoes. But  I mostly rely on the work garden for vegetables.

People assume that because I grew up in the country, I know stuff about growing vegetation and I let them think that. I have such a great con going, my neighbor who was prepping his yard for the season asked me to come help him decide what were weeds and what were flowers.

I told him what I'd learned from a Greene County farmer once when doing a story for the paper about corn detassling. (I was a terrible detassler for Pioneer. I coudn't reach the tassles so I just walked through the corn all day. I should send them a check for the three days I endured that terrible summer job.)

"A weed," that farmer said, "is any plant that sprouts up in the wrong place. It could be an orchid or a soybean. But if it sprouts in a cornfield, it's a weed."

It's a very freeing philosophy when you're the Lone Weeder and you look back at your pile of greenery and gasp, wondering if some of that stuff was perennial and the Chief Garden Gnome is going to kick your ass for digging it up.

In my defense, I did stop ripping out the cilantro after it's lemony aroma nearly knocked me on my butt.

Plus, it WAS planting day. Ergo: the beds should have been emptied and anything in them was a weed. Right?  Right.

It's possible we made a parenting misstep

But I'm not willing to concede that point. I am, however, preparing my response to Child Protective Services should word of our week reach them.

It all started innocently enough. We have a long history of actually answering Alison's questions when she asks them. I contend -- though Amy Tokash and Jeff Reed have each disagreed on occasion -- that I have always presented said answers in an age-appropriate way.

For example, when she asked how babies get out of there, I gave her an edited but truthful answer. It was totally not my fault that she informed Jenna of the facts at a McDonald's where the girls (probably around age 4) and Amy were munching on fries next too a really pregnant lady. "Look! A deer!" was Amy's response when Jenna's jaw dropped and her eyes eclipsed her little face. 

Jeff wasn't happy a couple years earlier when Ali suprised him as he strolled by her open bathroom door saying, "Hey Daddy. Wanna see my bagina?!"

But mostly, it's been fairly routine. She asks. I answer. Information is a good thing.

So when we she turned 14 and had a couple of years of theater under her belt, we thought she was ready for Spotlight, an annual AIDS fund fundraiser that Jeff and I have attended for years. Our friend Lisa Vielee does PR for the IN Health Foundation. It's a night where a bunch of artists donate their day off to give the crowd snippets of amazing art ranging from the symphony to children's dance and voice to drag shows, opera, ballet, contemporary dance, etc...

It's dressy and fabulous and on a school night so a huge treat. Plus, it's a really important fundraiser for a really important cause and we are happy to both support it and talk about its importance to Ali. 

So the night progresses. Lisa strangely doesn't sit beside me. I think nothing of it. Ali is between Jeff and me and enthralled with the early performances. She cooed at the young dancers. She guffawed at the riske jokes from the cross-dressing magician/comedian and listened intently to the one-woman chat with the unseen, discarded old boyfriend.

She was slightly embarrassed when a couple of Speedo-clad young men carried a cardboard automoblie for a Car Wash act. This isn't unusual. From a young age, she's been vocal about the need for people of all genders to cover up in public.

So the evening is nearing its end when Dance Kaleidecope is due up. This contemporary dance troupe is amazing. I'm  not qualified to describe what they do. It's a mix of ballet and modern dance that makes you just marvel at the human body in top condition. You're blown way and jealous all at the same time. We never really know what to expect, except to know it'll be amazing.

Let  me repeat that. We never really know what to expect. Lisa Vielee, however, always knows what to expect because she works with the event. Remember where she sat? Not by me, right. Not by Ali either.

Because the performance was, in the words of one reviewer, "as if the entire audience received a collective lap dance."

Or in the words of Alison Renee Reed when the extremely buff dancers walked out in the smallest Speedos in the history of Lycra carrying kitchen chairs: "Sweet Jesus, what have you brought me to."

For about six seconds, I channeled Amy Tokash and almost pointed out the deer in the room. I didn't pick up my jaw from the floor though because I might have missed something. It WAS amazing.

Appropriate for a 14-year-old? Who can say? She's had the sex talk and the sex class. I don't think either was as clear on the actual anatomy of the male form as DK was. After the initial shock, I leaned over and told her, "Your dad dances like that after you go to bed."

She choked a bit before realizing I was joking. Later that night, he waited until she came in to say goodnight and then walked into the bedroom with a kitchen chair.  She fled.

The important thing to remember here is that she's aware of lots of different forms of art and she knows we all need to work together on important public health issues.

I followed up one dressy/school night event with another one that did not involve dancing but was also fabulous: a tribute to Judy O'Bannon and her amazing contributions to the state of Indiana. It was a reunion of folks from the Bayh-O'Bannon-Kernan years. Super fun. Super appropriate. 

I truly became a better person for my association with Frank and Judy O'Bannon, Cindy Athey, Lois Stewart, Bobby and Helen Small, Jonathan Swain, Tina Noel and a list of people too long to name.

I'll never forget how gracious the governor was to my father; how Bobby helped me through my dad's funeral; how Lois tried to make me be more of a lady. So many great memories made sweeter because we've not lost touch through the years. 

If even one person thinks of me the way I think of my FOB family, I will consider myself a successful woman.

  

We ended our artsy week activities with the second production of Time Machine by the YATkids. One more today and that puts an end to this session. Ali will have to take a break for a while due to summer school but we'll be back in the fall I'm sure.

Oh! we also put the final capper to Ali's birthday celebration. Her party got pushed back by YAT but we finally got it all in with a trip to Incrediplex. If you're in Indy and you want a fun place to hang out, you should check it. Bowling, laser tag, basketball, soccer, arcade, even a bungee jumping thing.  Well worth your time.  Even a bistro.

Next week is the CKS 8th grade trip to Washington DC. I'm a chaperone. The teachers are asking all the chaperones to do exactly what Ali fears I'll do by nature: yell at the kids if they misbehave. She thinks I'll embarrass her.

I'm pretty sure I covered that on Monday.

If I ever leave my husband, it'll likely be for Nicolas Feuillatte

That's funny because:

A. I'm never going to leave my husband;

B. He introduced me to ol' Nick;

C. Nick is champagne.

One of my favorite champagnes. And to celebrate Mother's Day, we broke a bottle out.

It's just one of the fabulous things in my life thanks to JMR. He's one. Alison Reed is another, of course.  At 14, she has to settle for Sparkling Red Grape of the House of Welch but it won't be long before she samples a bit of the vino, I"m sure.

It's been a great day in a busy month. Ali's first production of Time Machine was Saturday, as was the Angie's List Grand Prix. Friday was Book Club. Tomorrow it's Ali's first Spotlight, then a tribute to JOB on Tuesday, another play productionon Friday and Alison's delayed birthday party on Saturday. I'm just going to revel in what's left of tonight.

After dinner with Nick, of course.

I will confess that I'm always a little conflicted on Mothers' Day. My own is gone, as is my mother-in-law who was probably the best mother ever. I know so many great moms -- some who gave birth and some who just provided such unstinting love and support to children they didn't actually birth they should be in the Mom Hall of Fame anyway.

While I honor every woman who went to the trouble to make a life, I don't consider the act of actually birthing a child to be the definining moment of motherhood any more than I consider the act of conception one that defines fatherhood.

It's in the rearing where the real parents shine. I fail every other day. It's frickin' hard to parent well. God knows I try, but I don't always get it right.

Here's hoping (yes, I'm raising my glass) that I (and you my fellow parents) get it right more often than we get it wrong and that our kids forgive us for the times we hiccup.

In its 14th year, this threesome going strong

I'm trying not to think of how we're going to survive May 2015 but I will admit that it's off to a fabulous start. Even a stupid $20 parking ticket hasn't damped the fabulosity of this weekend.

This month of craziness started at the end of April with an early screening --on a school night! -- of Avengers Age of Ultron. Between YAT practices, we've had a wedding and an early birthday sleepover in these first three days of the month, highlighted with the reunion of a threesome first formed in the infant room of Day Nursery.

Before Memorial Day weekend dawn, we'll have May crowning (a catholic thing I don't quite get but understand is a pivotal moment) the Angie's List Festival of Service and Grand Prix, more YAT practices and 3 YAT productions with Alison in them (and others her friends are focused on) Book Club, Spotlight (Ali's first year to go) a Judy O'Bannon tribute event, Ali's actual birthday and a party with some of her friends from school, a trip to Washington DC for Ali and me and to Portland, Ore. for Jeff, and Ali's 8th grade graduation (a bigger deal than most schools because this is the end of her CKS career.)

Deep breath, right?  It's kind of terrifying me.

This weekend saw me flying down to Greene County -- top down all the way baby and thank you law enforcement community for being where I wasn't -- to see Annie and Justin Williams tie the knot. She, of course, was a stunning bride and it was a too-short trip. I'm not sure I've seen my family looking so consistently attractive. Annie should get married more often. 

Or maybe we should just clean up more. 

In helping me get ready, Ali had warned me to flash my wedding ring a lot for fear of being overrun by suitors. She was overly concerned, although I did meet a man named Moose who I still think I have met before. Couldn't figure it out.

I even got to talk my cousin Beth in to the church after she got lost in Linton, of all places. It's been a few years since I was familiar with Linton and it seemed like evertime I told her a landmark, someone would tell me that it isn't there anymore. Jack Wheeler Ford isn't there! Who knew? The Dairy Queen remains.

Beth and her son Christopher coasted in just as the bridal march got started, but it was OK. And wouldn't you know it, Christoper --born and raised in Columbus, Ind. -- had friends on the Williams' side of the aisle and no one had realized the connection before. 

I sadly had to miss the reception (which may still be going on for all I know)  to rush back home for the first round of Alison's birthday celebration. She'll be in play practice for the actual day and we won't get to her official party for a couple weeks. As it was, the sleepover couldn't start until 7 when she got out of play practice. 

We got a bit of a bonus though, including Hannah Ogden (she and Ali are in The Time Machine together) in the first phase -- dinner at Pizzology and then a carriage ride downtown with the threesome.

We have a lot to thank Day Nursery for. Jenna and Ali were friend in utero of course, but we met Bree there, as well as Alex Ogden a year or so later. Hannah, his older sister, came along later. With two years on the others, she's always been the cool older sister. She and Ali will be at Herron High together next year.

The first shot below is Ali's 1st birthday party. Jenna was the only one who'd eat the no-sugar, carrot cake birthday cupcakes I made following the advice of What to Expect the First Year, my bible for Ali's first years.

This was them last night:

Through the years:

While there were tons of fun moments -- Jeff (who's mother would have been appalled) played with his food. Jenna claims I walk "fancy" when I have on heels. Bree thinks she should get to borrow them. We almost died in the parking garage a few times (according to the drama queens) and Jenna hid and jumped out at Ali, causing a blood-curdling scream. It may not have been a coincidence that a police officer drove up as we were driving down. He was talking to us as we passed but the girls were loud and all I heard from him was "yada yada yada." He didn't follow us out so it must have been something like that he was saying...

The girls played a game of Sweet-and-Sour with passersby while in the carriage. Bree won when she got not just a smile but a high five from some random guy.  

  

My favorite moment was when we were walking back to the car. The girls all held hands as we walked across Monument Circle and Jenna grabbed mine and we did a little "off-to-see-the-wizard" silliness. 

Had I not been wearing my wedding outfit, I might have actually fooled some folks there in the early dark of the evening -- we're all about the same height. And in the dark, neither my roots nor wrinkles was showing.

I love those girls. I love them individually, and I love them together. They're just goobers. Laughing and screaming and telling each others secrets like they've never been apart. 

They've never gone to "real" school together but those 6-weeks thru 5-years at Day Nursery were foundational. In those rare times when I pray, I pray that foundation will get them through high school and the rest of their lives.

  

We drove home with the top down, of course. Jeff had ditched us to get Hannan home before her parents realized we'd kept her longer than expected. Once home, they opened gifts, found the ice cream and descended to the basement for a night of bad movies. I found them sacked out this morning with the soundtrack of Beauty & the Beast still playing from when the movied ended.

They've woken and are baking. Because that's what you do on Sunday mornings. Batter for breakfast before Bree and Jenna's soccer game. I won't be surprised if they blow chunks on the field.

Maybe I should stay home and let Amer deal with that....

An afterglow to remember

Some of you may remember my angst over whether the Young Actors Theatre board would allow me into their hallowed midst after a particularly ungraceful entrance to a play last year. Whether it was desperation or true forgiveness, I'll never know, but they let me in and this weekend, I spent a few hours at a board retreat and was just blown away by a couple of interactions with some of the current crop of students. 

How blown away? So blown away that I laughed off news of that idiotic Texas woman, who both shares my first name and profession, and believes the only women in the White House should be cookin' up or serving dinner. More on that later. The YAT kids are far more important. 

I am most familiar with YAT's Playground productions, which interpret traditional works in ways that would never occur to me. I have known of the Court productions, which are focused on teen issues and which almost exclusively have a teen audience.

I'm not an educational expert, but every school in America should be calling up YAT to find out how their kids can see a Court production. Hell. Everyone should see this stuff. 

When a bunch of teenagers can make a group of adults hang on their every word and gesture (and ask for more) well, it's just awesome. It's enough to make you think you might still have time to make a difference in this world. Enough to convince you that these kids actually will. 

The Court productions focus on real-world teen issues like bullying and the effects of overdosing on social media. The one we saw focused on violence in Indy and the world in general. One line -- "There's just so much violence it made it hard to focus the show" -- was as profound as it was telling. 

The production is the story of a young man full of promise who is fatally shot and ponders what led to his death and could it have been prevented. It was amazingly well done. My friend Amy came to Ali's last Playground production, which was a twist on Beauty and the Beast. It WAS quite a twist and at the end, she looked at me and confessed, "I don't really get it." 

 he'd get the Court. Seriously. Check it out and then beg your school leaders to find a way to get a class trip to downtown Indy. 

I was actually surrounded by youth all weekend. I stood in for Grandpa at the CKS Grandparents Day on Friday. It started with a mass that include K, 4th and 8th grade. I knew I had to start off in church but I was curious about what the day would bring. 

I asked Ali, who'd paid zero attention and had little info for me. "Just go to the school and follow the old people," she suggested. 

That's pretty much what I did. I was lucky enough to walk in with another non-Catholic who'd driven in from Madison, IN. I'm always amazed at the lengths to which some grandparents go for their grandkids. I knew when I moved away from home that my parents wouldn't travel to see me, but I never factored in how that would affect Ali. 

My new friend from Madison may have adopted me. She's going to help me get over my 20-year grudge match against the town, which I admit is totally unfair and totally the Captain's fault. Speaking of idiotic behavior: Cheryl Rios. 

She's the Texan and alleged PR pro who says God doesn't want a woman in the White House and "...the woman should cook the meal for the man, like I believe in staying home when you have your child." 

Normally, comments like that would have set me off into the ether like a rocket. But I learned of it as I was basking in the afterglow of those YAT kids and probably a little bit left over from my trip to church and Grandparents Day at Christ the King. 

Ali doesn't remember my parents and with Gary in Maine, we've never paid a lot of attention to Grandparent's Day events at school. I don't know if it's that she's always just spent glorious time with him in the weeks just prior to the event or what, but it's never been an event we noted. This year, the school reached out specifically, asking for a representative. Maybe this is the first year they've focused on her grade... 

In any event, I suffered through church. She and I snuck down to the art room to see her latest project then joined in the gym where we feasted on bagels and donut holes before going to the classroom portion. Part of that had the kids intro'ing their guest and each sharing something they love about each other. One granny complained that her granddaughter needed to be less shy before allowing she was a sweet girl. Another told of her grandson turning to her for help with spelling and asking, "Grandma, did you even GO to school?" (English is not her first language.) It was really a sweet exercise.

I had to go first and was totally unprepared but said I loved that Alison is always true to herself. Middle school has been a challenge for Alison. Despite that,she's not pushed down her real personality in a bid to just fit in. It's been hard for her at times, and I can't say how proud I am of her for being herself through it all. And I can say how grateful I am that YAT has helped her realize that she's a wonderful, valuable person whether the sassy CKS girls see it or not. I wish I'd said so much more about how proud I am of the things she's accomplished and how I can't wait to see what she does next. 

Her response? She loves that I'm always there to support her. 

Now, my failings as a parent are legion. But I'll forgive myself if she truly never questions my love or support. Not in an enabling, failure-to-launch kind of way, mind you. 

We HAVE had the discussion (more than once) that while I think the chances are slim that she'll become a serial killer, if she DOES turn criminal, I WILL rat her out. I'll still love her. I'll probably even visit her in prison. 

I'm pretty sure it won't come to that. Unless, of course, I have to follow the dictates of that silly Cheryl Rios. Then Jeff and Ali will be visiting ME in prison.

These are not trick questions

Why do adult males wear baggy cargo shorts that for particularly short men seem droop to their ankles?

How is it that the moss in my yard expanded exponentially while under cover of the longest, coldest,ickiest winter in history?

How can I remember what underwear I was wearing nearly 20 years ago when I inadvertently informed a then-single Jeff Reed that the summer fling I thought we were having had overtaken me but I can't remember the names of my neighbors and coworkers if I run into them in places other than where I normally deal with them?

As  you may have surmised, I'm not in a very focused frame of mind. Don't know why, exactly. Spring has sprung and I worked in the yard today and we even soaked up some Indiana sun at Victory Field where the Indianapolis Indians emerged victorious. 

I skipped writing last week because I think I tired myself out traveling down to Jasonville -- Coalmont really -- to see the family for Easter. It was fun. Got to see Kaitlin for the first time since she was in the hospital. It was great to see her on the road to recovery. Thanks for all the prayers and good vibes. 

Our Easters don't involve pastel dresses anymore -- more like bare feet and outdoor silliness. But there are piles of food and good company. 

We had Alex Ogden over Saturday. He and Ali have been friends since they were 2. Not much has changed there, either.

Alex was supposed to be making soda with Ali's Soda Stream and the word, "maximum" came up in the instructions.

Alex started muttering "Maximum.Maximum"  Ali exclaimed and said, "Don't say that!"

"Why?"

"It's a sex magazine. For old people."

"Gross," they said in unison.

That wasn't the high point of my weekend. But to tell you that, I'd have to tell you why I was remembering my underwear collection. And I'm just not that kind of girl.